


An Afternoon Spent in a Book Shop

by teShara



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Canon, Community: otterandferret, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teShara/pseuds/teShara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a mysterious figure shows up at Draco's book shop before dawn he know's he's in for an interesting day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Afternoon Spent in a Book Shop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheWickedWitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWickedWitch/gifts).



This morning had started earlier than most and the sun had yet to appear. The air seemed thick, almost sickly in the way the mist was heavily wrapped around everything, bringing the smell of London decay and Muggle pollution with it.

It hadn’t always been this way. Sure, there were always smells from the Muggle world slipping through the cracks in the walls. They had almost always been unpleasant, but this mist was the choking kind. The kind that strangled people as they went about their day, killing them little by little with each passing breath.

A figure walked through the dark and the mist. A lean figure with ice-blond hair. Hard shoes on cobblestones and a jingle of metal.

The fog didn’t touch this man. If anyone had looked it was as if he were surrounded by a thin bubble, the fog stopping an inch from his person.

The walking stopped by a heavy wooden door and the jingling grew louder. The sound of a key going into locks and releasing them each in turn. A well-oiled, but heavy latch clicked, and the door slid open.

He twisted his head this way and that, feeling relief at the popping noises, but concerned that they happened at all.

It was an ominous morning. One of those mornings that were so quiet, the air so unpleasant, all he could think of was how she had kept the house smelling sweetly. Of roses or honeysuckle, sweet peas or lavender. He was never sure.

But one experimental spell gone wrong and it had all ended. He knew the secret was probably in one of the magazines she had stored away, marked with notes and paperclips. ‘Live savers’ she had called them. 

He snorted with irony whenever he passed the cupboard where she kept them. Had kept them. He was never sure, for she was gone but the magazines remained.

He pulled a wand out of his pocket and waved it at the dark room. It was as if morning had dawned with a single swish.

The golden light of candles grew on their wicks, held safely behind polished glass. A tea service began steaming and the half-baked scones in the basket began warming themselves to the appropriate temperature to finish their baking.

Another wave of the wand and a small radio went on, a peppy little number that poured out of the tiny speakers throughout the small shop.

The door chimed and Draco looked up sharply. A cloaked figure stood in the dark doorway with a bundle under one arm.

Draco sighed, not because this was a common occurrence, but because he knew who it was immediately. Ominous suddenly gave way to irritation.

He usually didn’t have the patience for such things, but he decided to let them make a fool of themselves.

“I have something for you to look at.” A gravelly voice came from beneath the cloak.

It was all too much.

“You know,” Draco said with a patronizing look. “I was going to let it go, but the voice is just too much. What do you want, Granger?”

The figure stiffened. “I don’t know what—“

“Orange cat hair all over your robes and the smell of anti-frizz potion?” He tapped a foot at her. “And you’re too short for Percy Weasley.”

She whipped the hood off her head and scowled at him. “Fine.”

“How long had you been waiting out there?” Draco asked.

“Actually, I just got here,” she admitted. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”

“Had trouble sleeping,” Draco said, and then he wondered why he was telling her about his sleeping problems.

“You might be lucky,” Hermione said as she set the bundle down in front of him. She unwrapped it and he found himself looking down at two books: one about pocket-sized and thin, the other large and bound in strange-looking leather with small white stones set around the edges.

“Is that bound in human skin?” Draco recoiled from the counter.

“I think so,” Hermione admitted. “Found it hidden away in Grimmauld Place. Oodles of protections on it. I managed to undo enough that this fell out of it.” She nodded at the smaller book.

Draco found himself reaching for his glasses. The ones he kept in his sweater pocket and only took out when he absolutely had to. They were silver and half-moon and perched on the end of his nose. His mother thought they looked charming. Pansy had thought they made him look old.

“Are they safe?” he asked as he reached out to touch the larger of the books.

“I have no idea.” Hermione shook her head. “But you can touch them, I think.”

“You think?” Draco jerked his hand back.

“Well, I’ve been handling them, but what if they’re rigged for a specific blood-line or something?” Hermione asked.

Draco went to the front of the shop and pulled a screen over the front door. “Makes it look as if the shop’s empty.”

“The big one’s full of writing, but I can’t make it out,” Hermione told him. “The little one’s empty.”

“Empty?” Draco asked. “Awful lot of trouble to go through for an empty book.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Hermione said. “So the writing’s got to be hidden, doesn’t it? Like in Tom Riddle’s Diary?”

Draco flinched as if he had been slapped. “And why do you think I’d know all about that?” he asked her coldly.

“Because you’re supposed to be the best book antiquarian in London,” Hermione said, ignoring his tone completely. “Are you, or shall I go somewhere else?”

The teapot chose that moment to begin whistling and Draco fumbled for his wand. 

“Fine,” he said, too tired to work up a good anger. “You make the tea. Basket has about three more minutes. Don’t peek until they’re done.”

Hermione scuttled over to the tea service as Draco began examining the pair of books. The larger of the two was extremely old, dark magic, but he had seen books like this before. They were safer than safes, no one wanted to touch them at all, let alone going poking around them with all of the layers of hexes and curses layered on them. 

But Hermione had. Not only that, but she had cracked the combination to get out the contents and that took some skill.

He flipped through the pages. It was in no language he had ever seen, but that didn’t mean anything. Traditionally they were filled with nonsense, enough to get the reader into trouble trying to decipher it.

He turned his attention to the little book. It was red and plain, its pages were blank, but the pages weren’t flat, as if they had been under the paper the writer had been writing on and had been warped by the repeated strokes of a pen.

He took out a piece of charcoal and ran it over one of the pages. It was soaked into the page and Draco leaned closer. Just then a puff of charcoal dust shot out of the page and into his face.

He coughed and began swiping at his face.

He heard Hermione swear. “Did you see it?” She grasped him by the shoulders and felt her prodding his face with her wand.

“See what?” Draco asked, somewhat alarmed.

“The curse!” Hermione sounded panicked.

“I didn’t get hit by a curse! The cheeky thing blew charcoal dust in my face!” Draco snapped as he tried to regain the shreds of his dignity.

“Why did it do that?” Hermione asked, bewildered.

“Because my day can never start out easy!” Draco groused as he straightened his glasses. “It’s against the laws of nature!” He saw Hermione bite her bottom lip and if he didn’t know better, he’d think she was laughing at him. 

“I’ll just go back to the tea…” she said as she turned around.

“You go do that!” Draco said grumpily. She snorted at him.

He tried writing on the page, but the ink absorbed and nothing wrote back.

“Well, at least we know it isn’t another Horcrux,” Hermione joked.

Draco had no idea how she could possibly joke about such a thing. “Well, there is that,” he had agreed.

He ran through everything he could think of. Curses and hexes, blood magicks and divine gifts. She had watched him the whole time, asking questions whenever it would irritate him the most.

They went through one pot of tea and started another. The scones were delicious.

At one point in the afternoon she had slipped out the back door and had returned with bags of take-out.

Draco was getting ready to tear his hair out when his eyes fell on a rack of children’s books.

 _No…_

He looked up at Hermione, who had busied herself with reorganizing his bookshelves. He had been too tired to even protest. His wife walking out had taken more out of him than he had thought.

She glanced over at him and furrowed her eyebrows. “What?”

“If this works I’m going to be bloody embarrassed,” he admitted.

“What?” she asked impatiently.

“The small book. Look at the binding.” Draco pointed at a spot.

“What’s the matter?” Hermione shrugged.

“It’s glue. Modern-ish binding,” Draco went on.

“So what does that mean?” Hermione crossed her arms testily.

“Old safe, new contents,” Draco said simply. He tapped the small cover three times with his wand and the cover opened on its own.

“How did you know to do that?!” Hermione squeaked excitedly.

“I sell them.” Draco didn’t even want to look at her. “They’re diaries for little girls. Made to look old. Makes them feel like they’re Edwardian heroines.”

“That’s adorable!” Hermione exclaimed, to his surprise. “Do they make big ones?”

He looked at her.

“For… um… big girls?” She started turning red.

“I’m sure I can find one,” Draco snorted, although he looked amused.

“So, is there writing in it?” Hermione asked.

“Look for yourself,” he said.

_Property of Lycoris Black 1924_

“Who is that?” Hermione blurted out.

“He was a son of the first Sirius Black,” Draco said. “I thought you’d know that, or did Potter have the whole thing torn down?”

“He wouldn’t do that!” Hermione snapped at Draco. “He loved Sirius and Regulus died doing what was right and standing up to Voldemort! He wouldn’t rip their names off a wall to make a new sitting room!”

“So what did he do with the room?” Draco asked casually.

“All right,” she said huffily. “Maybe it’s a sitting room, but the tapestry is still there and Harry had it repaired.” She watched as Draco picked up a razor and began slicing open the spine of the book. “What are you doing?”

“It has a charm reset in the spine,” Draco said, poling at a small orange spot with his wand. “They haven’t changed the design much.”

The pages ruffled themselves and the book became thicker, as if there were things pressed between its pages. A hair ribbon fell out.

“I’m sure you’ll find all the family secrets to your satisfaction in here,” Draco said as he handed her the small volume.

“I’m sure Harry will be pleased,” Hermione smiled, to Draco’s surprise. “What do I owe you?”

“Nothing,” Draco held his hands up. “I should have seen it straight away. Plus I’m reorganized and got lunch. We’re fair.”

“I’m sorry about Astoria,” she blurted out, and her cheeks turned red.

“So am I,” he said as he went to retie the bundle for her.

“You can keep the other one,” Hermione offered. “Harry doesn’t want it in the house.”

“It’s worth a fortune,” Draco exclaimed.

“If you don’t take it, he’ll just set it on fire,” Hermione reasoned.

Draco squeaked in horror and laid a protective hand on the bundle.

“You know I’m not lying.”

Draco thought on this for a moment. The day hadn’t been unpleasant, for what it was worth. Her organization was far better than his, he had to admit. Although ‘stacking things until they fell over’ wasn’t everyone’s preferred method it had suited him well enough. Until now, he supposed.

And she made a smashing cup of tea. What was that? Cinnamon? Pepper? They had drained three pots before the mystery was solved.

Suddenly he didn’t want her to go.

“If you won’t let me pay you outright, why don’t you help out a few days a week?” he heard himself saying. It had sounded so good in his head, but the look she was giving him was making him reconsider. “I mean, if you’re not doing anything.” He waved in the general direction of the stock room, which was far worse off than the rest of the store.

She pursed her lips and looked him up and down. “It was the tea, wasn’t it?”

“Gods, woman, what did you do to it? And don’t you leave without making another pot. I’ll save it for tomorrow!”

Hermione chuckled and it surprised him. “You _are_ hopeless, aren’t you?”

He quirked a corner of his mouth at her. “From all accounts, that’s what I’ve come to understand.”

She went to the tea service and prepared him another pot, this time leaving a little shaker of spices behind for him to use when she wasn’t there.

“See you tomorrow,” she said simply before leaving.

He stood looking at the door for a moment, not sure whether it was the insane amount of tea or something else that was making his stomach feel so jumpy.


End file.
